United States or Hungary ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
After dinner Berta was captured for a dance in parlor J till chapel time. The lilt of the music was still echoing in her ears, her heart beating in happy rhythm to its harmony, when at last she slipped into the back pew and leaned her head against the wall, her lips relaxing in happy curves, her hands lying idle in her lap. Prexie's voice sounded soothingly far away.
I myself ought to be called Prexie's Assistant, somewhat after the order of Miss Edgeworth's 'Parent's Assistant, you know, because my career has been such an awful warning to the undergraduate. But you're an example " "I am not a genius," Berta spoke with biting severity of accent; "Lucine Brett is a genius, and I despise her." "You used to despise her," put in Robbie Belle gently.
It was conscience doubtless that had driven her across the campus to speak to Miss More on Class Day morning. Bea sighed again, this time with a faint twinge of sympathy. She generally meant well herself. A conscience was a very queer thing she thought so still even if she had heard it all explained and analyzed in senior ethics. "Surgite." That was Prexie's voice.
Word Of The Day